fairyland’s a myth, you know it’sjust a rabbit’s worth of shimmer-dung —faux-prettily cloaked in the blood of
morpheus : third doppelganger down the Moirean avenue – – all stilted like…the radio-bellied, carbon-eyed lamppost we saw once–

there is a ____ in

all of us ? )

in all of

quick

smuggle valor out a pawn shop.
all the knights you can swallow
all the rooks you can cram like a midnight Messianic catch
into the cranial sepulcher – – yours and mine,

and we’ll

erase the lowly lead with the Queen
the black-hole graves with the beheaded King
we have to
we have to

“Shuichi.” She breathes back at last, shedding an aphrodisiac ghost onto the dainty knob of his Adam’s apple and it—unfurls like a lacewinged drug, bleeds selenic spiders by the sweet, sweet dozen along his moon-kissed, dour circuits-of-being (—they’re all but memorial grounds now, archaic home to crescent kisses and waning whispers and all lacrimal shards of testament to her, and her and her—)

“Shuichi.”

“A-Ah—”

The irregulars between them warp like innocuous mana, threatening a rupture in him of the gentlest ilk—already he is dangling like a calcifier’s puppet over her ethereal maw, promethean doll-legs crudely poised and aching for a white-rabbit spillage—

“—I l v e y ”

She murmurs, almost croaks—and in the morgue-full of his murky fathomings crawls a limping, threadbare sob and—

—why of all people….would you

care to call me—

Anchor, croons the lonely, travelling finger, down a wan stretch of thigh to stir more frissons light as the fae. Truth.

Lies, the wormhole-vault in his ribcage mourns back, though he falls (typical) regardless – tangled softly by the heels into her angel’s mantra. Impostor.

he’s never deserved he’ll never deserve

“ — l v ”

The static bleats past his ears in a fraught finale and she- -he realizes that she

th—at angel’s mantra is g—

and the hangman tiptoes out a starry farewell, its organs retching out a storm of plasmic kingdoms—… qu i et Q u i- –

—gnaws away at the lunulae entombed in his irises, a harlequin foreboding armed with aknife down the gullet

And in the hollows of his lungs, the programmed reapers yield their squalls, sickle-limbs flailing in the muffling, democratic dark as she topples—contents cascading down his calves and his industrial blue throat, and into those damaged keyholes-in-his-eyes that beat once, like mundane quartzes—(in the presence of her, but)

—now the puppet plummets endlesslyinto a cradle spiked with tendoned vanes, bathed in

A boy stands – –
– – and bears no crude telling—no rabbit-eyed, cog-laced moniker.
and the vital ever-drone of mortal pattering
precedes him.
( and he could’ve sworn they came to carve a sea of rulers—
crook-and-tallied with mortimer limbs and drowned in belly-fulls of
tellurian fauxcider ; – spiced with Neptune and an inkling of bluebird salt,as the recipe goes—)

A boy stands – –
– – and in creeping tow—waft scabrous hands:
exiles off the charted vales of Drosselmeyer — the old lore-lusting cadaver.
they arc and cast airs like hexed harpoons, ailing mimickers of graver portents—
of the long-horned Final Days.
( he keeps a keychain for a token of such looming times:
a shapen Babylon bodied with toyland-scrapers
and no miniature harlot in sight. )

A boy stands – –
– – eyes poised as parlours for the twilit homeless and marbled—( oh-so beyond-ly—)
as chromallyn compasses.i am misfit,croons the aurora down the spineless canal, past the vorpal loft that teems (startling) with wind-up comets (and a giddy rocking-horse rhyme- -)
(and while the earth spins a maw out of matcha-foil and plays society’s latrine for all-dastardly-time- -)the attic resides in the heart, pulsed with wonderland readings—
to this, he endeav

they’ll warble at your doorbell soon, I’m sure- –
reckon you a circus-pile of reject axons
{ tightropes a morbid-measure too loosefor panoramic liking.“and, if you could, young anomaly- –
bid the psycho-lions out
of their quixomatic dens }
we do honestly want to eviscerate them—”

but don’t be afraid
I’ll meet you—

x – 1 ;

take your dime-sized chimeras and jack-in-the-dendrons, I’llteach you where to go, where thosemanxome eyes’ll fit in those entrails, neat—finally, right- –

;; x – x

I’ll meet you down down down down
at dopamine harbor- -where the hypodermic felons are.
your tongues can play a festooned game and I’ll
watch with feline graphtoid slits- –

maybe therapy’ll blossom then
for the both of us
a nicer kind (- –void of shitty prism-prophecy for us = (the spirograph and the mortem fang)

gestation in the vitreous moor- –
self-charted. i confess
to have helmed the orchestration in ninth-degree– -and is it so wrong to bare a blister
in the geo-cryptic light of terra-gloria?

ave bioticum. “

mundane power to the fireflies- –
that tower on crucifixion stilts.
one haggard piercing, to two—
maroon foibles in the spilling-forth’s- – and– -and is there more to us than mercantile famethan troves of trade-away rhythms and screws, tomount on { the Idol that looms tartarean: –
– eater of warts in the numinous dark. }

mundane power to me as- –
I plunder, capture
confiscated blemishes at quaking-large.
pilfered from the dire womb that threatens
ceramic expulsion- –set to mannequin heights and doctored values thatblaspheme us. blaspheme us

and I shall, if I shall- –

– -return the warts;
to naked codex
to library of fleshhood.
where the code of Us contrives a havoc to remember.

and I say,
{ cue the records, green-stroked reamsdeadman sheen to frame it all – –fire the account—amorphous fusillade of gallowsto the adolescent-hologram that molders
in omnipresent hiding – –
contrivance of secular tellers – -de|serves; to r-otinsideoutside in upov er…